


Trigger

by MrSpockify



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Blood, Flashbacks, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kinda?, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Vomiting, idk man idk what tags to use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 02:23:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17438096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrSpockify/pseuds/MrSpockify
Summary: Peter Parker hates guns. Tony Stark finds out the hard way.





	Trigger

                Peter really couldn’t believe his own life. He was a poor, orphaned kid from Queens who lived in a tiny apartment with his aunt. He went to a nerdy school where he got bullied every day for being a loser. He _was_ a loser. A nobody. But he was also an Avenger. An _Avenger_.

                Okay, well… not officially. There still hadn’t been a public announcement about the newest member of the team, Spider-Man, but Peter was sure it would come soon. Anytime now, really.

                In the meantime, he got to spend every other weekend up at the compound training with the Avengers, something his younger self wouldn’t have even thought to dream about, because in what world would Peter Nobody Parker be sparring with Captain America?

                He had already been up here plenty of times, but the feeling of awe was the same every time Peter walked into the compound and was greeted by FRIDAY. Nervousness bloomed in his chest as if he hadn’t stood in this same spot over a dozen times.

                “Hey, kid,” Tony greeted, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders to guide him forward. “We’re gonna shake things up today, if that’s alright with you.” Peter nodded, the butterflies in his stomach having an actual reason to flutter now.

                He was lead through a few hallways, and they passed the gym where Peter usually trained with the others. He could hear movement through the doors, and after focusing in he could tell it was Sam and Steve throwing and dodging punches. Part of him kind of wished he was in there with them, but the other part was more curious about what else he was going to be doing today.

                Tony ushered him into a room a couple minutes later. It was big and windowless, and several objects were spread around, most of them considerably far away. Each object had targets painted on them.

                “Hey, Spiderling,” a voice chimed in, pulling Peter out of his inspection of the room. He turned to see Natasha giving him a small smile, something he knew was rare. He felt special knowing he was one of the very select people she genuinely smiled at. He gave a tiny wave in response.

                He and Tony walked up to her where she stood behind a wide, metal counter. Sitting atop it was a black box with a bright orange handle.

                “Nat’s gonna take over today’s lesson. I’ll be staying for my own peace of mind, because otherwise I won’t be able to think of anything except you losing an eye or something,” Tony said, waving his hand dismissively. Peter scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion.

                From a shelf under the counter, Natasha pulled out three pairs of headphones, one of which looked much more sophisticated than the others. He was handed that one.

                “I know you have sensitive hearing, so we made sure to buy the most efficient noise-cancelling headphones on the market,” Natasha explained. “And then Tony upgraded them because he still didn’t trust it to work well enough.” She smirked, and he tried them on.

                Immediately, all sound was shut out. It was disorienting not being able to hear anything when he was used to hearing everything. He could no longer hear the footsteps of people jogging around the track outside, or the steady hum of the air conditioning, or Tony’s heartbeat, which he had grown very accustomed to. The noise usually grounded him. Without it, he almost felt like he could float away.

                A tap at his shoulder brought him back, and he realized Natasha had been trying to talk to him. He took off the headphones, wincing as everything came flooding back into focus.

                “So I take it they work?” Tony asked, a smug smile on his face. Peter just nodded, tuning into Tony’s heartbeat that he was grateful to have back and letting it calm his nerves.

                A click indicated that Natasha was opening up the black box, and he turned his attention to her just in time to see her reveal two guns inside the case, looking shiny and new.

                His heart dropped into his stomach.

                Natasha was telling him something. She was explaining the ins and outs of the gun model or something, he wasn’t really sure. He might as well have been wearing the headphones with how much he could hear her. All he could hear was the sound of his heart pounding away in his chest, blood flowing through his veins. He had never shot a gun before. He had never even _held_ one.

                “The recoil isn’t too bad, but I’m sure your spidey strength will take care of that,” Natasha said, nudging him on the shoulder a bit. He took that as a cue and forced a small smile.

                “Now don’t go taking this as permission, Underoos,” Tony interrupted. “This doesn’t mean I plan on giving Spider-Man a gun anytime soon. We just think it’s an important skill for you to have, just in case.” Just in case _what_ , Peter wanted to ask. He really didn’t want to think about it.

                “Here,” Natasha said, thrusting one of the guns into his hands. “Just follow my lead, alright?”

                He nodded. The gun felt like it was scorching his skin, even though the metal was cold to the touch. It was heavier than he thought a gun would be, but he also felt like it was weighing him down so much he might fall to the ground. If he dropped it, he imagined it would smash right through the floor.

                His teacher for the day held up her own gun and got into position, coaching him to do the same. Slowly, he copied her movements. It was difficult, considering his entire body felt numb, but he managed to get into position as well. He tried to focus on Tony’s heartbeat behind him, the steady _thump, thump, thump_ keeping him from completely freaking out.

                Natasha walked him through the process of turning off the safety, aiming at a target, and pulling the trigger. When he seemed to have it all down, she took a step back and beckoned for him to put on his headphones. She gave a nod of encouragement.

                Peter felt a lump growing in his throat, but he pushed it down with a deep breath. The headphones slipped over his ears, and once again the whole world was shut out. He was left feeling like someone cut off one of his limbs. It was unsettling. There was no more heartbeat for him to listen for, and therefore nothing to keep him tethered to the ground. He felt himself drifting away.

                Carefully, like he was moving to grab a feral animal, he picked up the gun and got back into position. His finger trembled over the safety. His whole body was shaking, making it difficult to aim. The barrel of the gun passed over the different objects, struggling to settle on one. The closest item was a square box with a red bullseye. That would be the easiest choice. Several meters behind it, he could see a dummy, just a torso and faceless head. There was a target on the chest.

                He blinked.

                It was Ben. Peter wasn’t sure how or when it had happened, but the dummy was gone and in its place was his uncle. It felt like someone knocked the air out of him. A hole appeared on Ben’s chest, right where the target had been on the dummy, and blood began to ooze out of it. A pained expression appeared on his uncle’s face, and if Peter didn’t have on the headphones he knew he’d be able to hear anguished cries. Blood started to dribble from his mouth, just a few drops at first, but quickly becoming much more. It poured down his chin, dripping into a sticky puddle on the floor by his feet.

                Peter could only watch as Ben collapsed onto the floor, his face pale and lifeless just like it had been those years ago in the street. The unseeing eyes stared up at the ceiling, and his chest was eerily still.

                He had done that. Peter looked in horror at the gun in his own hands. He hadn’t even pulled the trigger, and the safety was still on, but somehow he knew he had done it. He had sent the bullet into his uncle’s chest. He had murdered Ben.

                Bile started to crawl up his throat. Peter dropped the gun and started running before it even hit the floor. He ripped the headphones off and tossed them aside. The sudden onslaught of noise that slammed into him didn’t even slow him down, but now he could hear the pounding of his feet on the ground as he tore away as fast as he could.  The tears in his eyes made it hard for him to see where he was going, but he kept on as long as his body could take it.

                Suddenly, his legs gave out and his stumbled to the ground. Immediately after his hands hit the floor he was puking. He retched and gagged for what felt like forever, his throat burning and his mouth tasting like acid. Tears trickled down his face, collecting on the tip of his nose before dripping down into the puddle of vomit beneath him.

                When he seemed to be done puking, he crawled away from the puddle and collapsed, not even bothering to curl up into himself. With nothing left to do, he clenched his fists and closed his eyes so hard he could see white. A guttural, painful scream crawled its way up his throat, and he let it out with as much force as he could muster.

 

* * *

 

 

                Tony hadn’t been sure of what to expect from the shooting practice. He thought there was an equal chance of the kid being unnervingly accurate with his aim or hilariously terrible. He worried about the headphones not working well enough. He even briefly considered the possibility of Peter accidentally shooting his own foot. What he hadn’t imagined, however, was the kid rushing out the door faster than he had seen anyone move before.

                Shooting a quick, worried glance at Natasha, Tony tossed his headphones over to her and ran out the door after the kid. Unfortunately, this was Peter, a superhuman with superhuman speed, and Tony, a regular human with middle-aged man speed, who had no hope of keeping up. He took off in the direction he was pretty sure the kid went, willing his legs to go a little faster.

                At the far end of a hallway, he realized there were two possible turns to take. His shoulders sagged as he looked back and forth between the two directions.

                Suddenly, as if calling him, a loud noise came from the left. It was a horrible, animalistic sound that sent fear shooting through Tony’s veins. He ran down the hallway, turned the corner, and froze.

                Peter was in a heap on the floor, his body tense and shaking. The scream coming from him was filled with so much anguish it was breaking Tony’s heart. He approached slowly, trying not to break down himself as he saw the agonized expression on Peter’s face. The kid’s eyes were glossy and unfocused, as if he was seeing something Tony wasn’t.

                “Pete? Kiddo?” Tony called quietly, but he knew he wasn’t being heard. He crouched down beside Peter’s face, fighting the urge to pull the kid into a tight embrace and never let go. He compromised with himself, reaching a shaky hand forward. He let a thumb swipe away a few tears before pressing the palm of his hand onto Peter’s cheek.

                The pressure on his face seemed to bring Peter back suddenly to the present. He gasped, choking on air and flinching away from the touch. His eyes darted around wildly before landing on Tony. He looked terrified.

                “Kid? You with me?” Tony asked, keeping his voice soft. “You gotta tell me what’s going on, I’m— _Oomph_.” He was cut off and pushed back, falling onto his ass. Peter crawled into his lap before he could register what was happening, and the kid pressed the side of his head onto Tony’s chest, wrapping his arms around his back and locking into place. Tony was positive he wouldn’t be able to pry the kid off of him if he tried—not that he wanted to. He just wrapped his own arms around Peter and rubbed soothing circles into his back, rocking their bodies from side to side gently. He wasn’t sure why he did it, but it felt like the right thing to do. He remembered his mother doing it when he was upset as a child, and it had always helped make things better.

                They stayed like that for a long time, just sitting in silence as Peter slowly relaxed. His loud sobbing turned into quiet tears, which then turned into sniffling. Tony helped him calm down his breathing until Peter was taking long, deep breaths without gasping every few seconds. Their holds on each other loosened, but Peter still kept his head pressed firmly to Tony’s chest.

                “I’m the reason my uncle is dead,” Peter said so quietly Tony wasn’t sure he heard him right. He stilled. The kid never really talked about his uncle other than a few small references to his life here and there. They certainly hadn’t ever discussed the circumstances of his death.

                “What makes you think that?” Tony asked, resuming the comforting circles on the kid’s back.

                It was another few minutes of silence before the kid spoke again.

                “I should have stopped the man. I had my powers. I could have taken him down easily.” Peter’s voice kept getting quieter until he was speaking in a small, fragile whisper. “I could have saved him. I should have done something.” Tony wasn’t sure what to say yet, so he kept quiet, worry eating at him from the inside out. “I just froze. I didn’t do anything.” Peter sucked in a deep breath, and Tony was afraid he was going to start sobbing again. Instead, he let out a shaky sigh and squeezed his mentor a little tighter. “He had a gun.”

                Tony felt a ripple of guilt wash over him. He closed his eyes and fought against the tightness in his chest that made him want to cry. He was an awful person.

                “ _Peter_ ,” he breathed, the name catching in his throat. “I am so sorry.”

                “He shot him,” Peter continued. “I didn’t do anything, and he shot him.” The kid was shaking uncontrollably now, and his breaths were becoming more ragged.

                “That is _not_ your fault,” Tony snapped, regretting his tone the second he let it slip. Peter flinched, so he held him closer and pressed one hand to the kid’s head, lacing his fingers into his hair. His thumb rubbed soothingly on his scalp, which seemed to help the kid relax. He went limp in his arms.

                “I could have stopped it.”

                “Pete, look at me,” Tony demanded, prying the kid off his chest and holding his head so they were looking at each other. “Maybe you could have stopped it, maybe you couldn’t. Maybe you stepping in would have made it worse and just got you killed, too. There are a million maybes, kid. Anything could have happened.” He searched the kid’s face for any sign of understanding, but all he saw was grief. “I don’t know what went down that night, and I don’t know how it would be different if you had intervened. But I do know one thing, and that’s that your uncle loved you.” At that, Peter’s eyes started to well up with tears. Tony fought the urge to look away. “He loved you so much, Pete. And he would absolutely hate it if you blamed yourself for his death. It wasn’t your fault. You need to know that. He would need you to know that.”

                Peter closed his eyes, a couple tears trailing down his cheeks. He breathed in and out a few times, slowly and hesitantly. After a long moment, he nodded. Tony swiped away the tears with the pads of his thumbs and waited for the kid to open his eyes.

                “Yeah? You understand?” Tony prompted, and Peter nodded again.

                He was taken aback again as the kid pressed up against his chest once more. He laced his fingers back into the curly brown hair and quirked an eyebrow.

                As if sensing the unasked question, Peter laughed softly, his ears turning red. “Sorry,” he muttered, though he still didn’t remove himself from Tony’s lap. “I like to hear your heartbeat. It’s… comforting.” He sighed into Tony’s chest, his body relaxing.

                “Listen away, kid,” he said, chuckling. At least this was something he could do to help Peter. All he had to do was keep breathing, which, for Tony—or Iron Man—wasn’t the easiest task in the world, all things considered. But for Peter, he’d make sure of it.

For as long as he could, he’d keep his heart beating for this kid.


End file.
